


It's the Little Things

by OwletPNG



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Potential spoiler at the end, my take on jeralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 06:50:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwletPNG/pseuds/OwletPNG
Summary: It has always been the little things in life that have shown Jeralt what his child truly felt.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83





	It's the Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> Major spoilers at the end! It has been a while since I wrote, rusty as hell that I am. I hope you enjoy my take on Jeralt towards his kiddo!   
Where's my fifth route the Dad route where it's just Byleth and Jeralt

Blue eyes. That was the first thing that stood out to him. Jeralt felt his breath hitched, as he gazed upon the baby. With hair and eyes like his wife, staring into his without a question. He stroked the baby’s cheek, almost wanting to throw the doors of the monastery open and demand an answer from Rhea herself. His wife was dead, and the baby was emotionless, without a single heartbeat. No comforting thudding of the heart when he would lie next to the baby, no crying or laughing or even any shred of pain. He placed the baby down, back into the cot, as he gathered his thoughts. What did Rhea do? Or rather, what will she do now with the baby? He paced around his bedroom, almost pulling his hair out.

He heard a cry, and he turned back to see the baby, reaching for him, climbing the sides of the cot unsteadily. He met the large blue eyes, and rushed over, reaching a hand out for the baby.

Tiny hands curled around his large finger, and his baby suddenly dropped back down into the cot. Looking up at Jeralt, the baby wiggled, tugging on his finger more. Jeralt froze, before tentatively, almost as if he was afraid, shifted his hand closer, until the baby’s head was snug against his palm. The baby’s eyes closed, and a soft noise rippled through the air, and for once Jeralt felt his eyes welling up, not in sorrow, nor in pain, but in worry, for the future of the baby, no, his child. He gently rubbed his palm against his child’s head, and the little sound that came from his child gave him the needed push towards the right decision.

He gently placed his child’s head back into the cot, and turned towards the various torches in the room.

* * *

Bloodsoaked and weary, Jeralt threw down his armor and headed straight to the nearby river to wash off the stink. Starting a mercenary group was tough enough, but staying out of sight from the church was harder. At the very least, he had a group of trusted friends, ones that would watch his back, and his child as well. Speaking of said child, Jeralt squinted in the distance as he watched the young toddler crawling over to the riverside. The buffoon that was watching his child had better watch out, he knew they love doting on Byleth, but surely letting his child near the river was a terrible idea!

He quickly dunked his hands into the water, and wiped them on the assumed clean area of his clothes, before reaching out to Byleth. Their expression had not changed, and if anything, Jeralt had figured they looked almost thoughtful at times. Very sleepy, however, and Jeralt chalked it up to being a normal baby. The big blue eyes stared up at him again, and he sees the little signs that Byleth is trying to do something, and was trying hard. His lips thinning, and the slight furrow in his brow. He almost laughed, had it not been for tiny signs like this, everyone would have thought Byleth was a wooden baby that he picked up.

Actually, everyone did think that.

He heard a soft whine, and directed his attention back to Byleth, who was, by now, looking a little more crossed (their fingers twitched ever so slightly, and their ears looked a little redder than usual. Again, it was the little things.). Jeralt bit back a chuckle as he squatted down and brought his hands closer to Byleth. Byleth, finally obtaining the required attention from Jeralt, slapped his hands away, and started to push themselves from the floor. Jeralt felt his mouth open, as Byleth slowly stood up, trembling, their eyes focused on the floor in concentration. And in the distance he could hear the whopping of the merry band of troublemakers he picked up, but Jeralt could only focus on his child. His child, who was now giving him the stink eye, holding their hands out for balance. Jeralt let out a huff, scooping Byleth into his arms, which let out a soft yelp and wrapped their soft arms around his face.

Later on, Jeralt was told the tale of how Byleth, who desperately wanted to please their father, had managed to convince themselves that it was to stand up, no thanks to their babysitters, of course. Even a baby, scheming to bring a little bit of joy to Jeralt! He turned to his child, who was now chewing on a piece of soft bread. Jeralt ruffled Byleth’s head, while Byleth continued to chew, almost pointedly, staring into their bread.

He bent down to kiss Byleth on the head, softly, and immediately the toddler reacted, freezing first, before looking up with their face full of crumbs, eyes widened ever so slightly. Shock? Jeralt continued his movements, before swooping down to press another kiss to Byleth. The toddler, this time catching the kiss, raised their hand of bread in a bid to stop the kiss. Jeralt stopped short, before laughing. Embarrassment! As the mercenaries all started to yell and reached for Byleth, attempting to pepper the baby with kisses, Jeralt watched on, laughing so hard at the sight of his child, shoving bread into the faces of those who tried to kiss them, a faint blush on their ears.

He was discovering new things about his child every day! The thought of the church slunk back into the dark corners of his mind.

* * *

When he first taught Byleth how to swing a sword, it was for self-defence. Not for… whatever this was. He stared at the amount of tree branches, cut logs, old clothes… Jeralt wished desperately this to be a prank by his fellow comrades rather than his child.

Alas, he was certainly rejected by any other ethereal being, because in the middle of camp Byleth stood, iron sword by their side, surrounded by sliced logs and fruits, vegetables and is that a whole fish sliced in half?! Jeralt remained hidden, as Byleth moved around the middle of camp, throwing the half logs almost haphazardly around. Picking up the sliced vegetables (placed in a cleanly sliced piece of cloth of his old clothes, Jeralt reminded himself.), Byleth began to toss them into the boiling pot that Jeralt now took notice of. Byleth took a sip, and just a peek of their tongue past their lips indicated disgust. Jeralt stifled his laughter, as Byleth threw in the fish, stirring and tasting once more. Again, the slight peek of the tongue, and Byleth ran off, grabbing more herbs and vegetables. Jeralt wanted to step out and stop them, and judging by the black smoke that was coming out, it was clear dinner would not be good. But yet with the same concentrated look Jeralt was now familiar with, Byleth was trying to their part for the group, in their own way.

It was endearing.

Jeralt heard noises, and from behind emerged the rest of the mercenary group, hungry for food. Byleth, caught, abandoned the ladle and immediately scrambled off. As Jeralt came out of his hiding spot, he could see Byleth, hiding behind bushes, watching and calculating their every move. His comrades were certainly quick to notice his gaze, and a few gave chuckles at the poorly hidden child. Jeralt gestured to the pot, and picked up an abandoned bowl by the side. He threw himself onto the halved log on the ground, making a show of stretching his limbs and grabbing some food. He bit down, and by the name everything that was holy this was awful. But he kept eating, and soon others joined him, and he could see the suppression of disgust. But their mouths were smiling and they praised the cook for the effort, gulping down every single bite. In the distance Jeralt watched his child peek their head out further, their mouth tilted ever so slightly and hands clenched into fists. Their eyes were big and bright, and for a moment Jeralt could almost see pride in them. Heh. He called out to Byleth, who went straight as a rod, and then nudged themselves towards him. Jeralt pretended not to notice, telling his child to take a bite, and a bite did Byleth take, only to immediately open his mouth and let the horrible piece drop onto the floor, drooling slightly.

The look of utter betrayal on their face (their tongue sticking out again, the way Byleth tilted his head upwards, their chin out in indignation, as well as the digging of their fingers into his arm) was well worth the terrible stomach blow he got from his child later in the middle of the night.

* * *

Jeralt later learnt that perhaps Byleth was not as Ashen as their moniker suggested.

Byleth’s escapades with the rest of the mercenaries were no stranger to his ears, but holy shit the trouble Byleth would get in. Bars kicking them out, the ladies in town being rejected so flatly that they were chased out of town, there was trouble to no end. Jeralt finally managed to pacify the last of the troubles, and returned back to his place of residence in the village only to see Byleth, standing next to his bed. He stared at Byleth for a bit, who met his gaze evenly. A moment of silence, and he saw a slight twitch of Byleth’s eyebrow, and Jeralt let out a sigh. He walked over and patted Byleth on the head, ruffling their hair slightly.

“Don’t worry. The kid’s fine now, he just got spooked by your face.”

To that, Byleth casted their gaze to the floor, and Jeralt frowned. He picked up Byleth by the chin, pushing their face back up. “There’s going to be none of that, kid. It’s not your fault your face is like that, and besides, the brat didn’t even know that you have a hard time. So chin up, alright?”

Byleth stared at Jeralt, their eyes darting to and fro, before nodding slightly against his hand. Satisfied, Jeralt released his child. Believing it was done, he turned away, wanting to get outside.

“…Father?”

The word made him whirled around, to see Byleth pushing at their face, pushing up the tips of their lips up into an awkward forced smile.

“Is this how you smile?” He could hear the small voice, flat as always, but the slight tilt betrayed Byleth’s inner turmoil. Guilt. Hurt. Confusion.

And with that Jeralt crushed his child into a hug, pinning their arms against them. He felt the pain from all those years back, when he saw that his child had no emotion, had no expression. They had improved, over the years. But seeing the scene before him, Jeralt felt despair. Byleth didn’t move, and Jeralt slowly released them, his hands on their shoulders.

“Listen, Byleth. Forcing it is going to be worse than not having it at all. Better yet, you don’t need to do any of that. There’s no need for you to force yourself, you hear me? Just focus on those who you hold closest to you, and that’s all you need.”

Byleth gave him that signature blank stare once more, releasing their hands from their face. They nodded, quickly, and Jeralt saw it, a slight smile, relieved, the way their shoulders dropped from their tensed position. A smile, for however long has it been? Were they truly that worried over not having much expressions? Jeralt released their shoulder, only to run his hands through their hair.

“A pity you got it from your stoic father. Your mother was much more expressive than me. What a pair we make! Had your mother been here she would have certainly scolded us both for being a… what did she call me? A right old piece of tree trunks, that’s what.” At the mention of their mother Byleth looked up, and the small quirk on their lips told Jeralt what he needed to know. Amusement, relief, and curiosity. He coughed, sitting down on the bed and patting the bed next to him. A few stories about his wife wouldn’t hurt, especially with how forgetful Byleth was…

* * *

He never thought the last he would see of Byleth’s change would be here, in the battlefield. The Ashen Demon, now shedding almost the last of their mask, warm hands clutching desperately at his shoulders. He could see his wife, waiting for him, a sad look on her face as she wrapped her arms around Byleth, whispering apologies and comforting words that Byleth could not hear. The first time Byleth cried, and it was over him! Him dying, technically, but him!

He would miss his dear child so very much. As he passed on the ring, wincing in the pain, he smiled, at his child. Tears were dripping onto his face, cooling as it was warm. Some said dying would be painful, others said it would be lonely and terrifying. Here, all Jeralt felt was sorrow, sorrow for not staying around, to watch his child grow and learn to love, to smile and cheer! He could remember everything Byleth did, their quirks, their little ticks. Here, all he could see was full blown emotion, the tears blurring even his own eyes. Even if the monastery was not a place he wished Byleth to be at, the students brought out the biggest change in Byleth, one that he was so very glad to see.

As he closed his eyes, Jeralt sealed the image of Byleth crying into his brain. The last known memory of his child, on the battlefield, crying over him. He wished it was a happy memory, but such things were a luxury on the battlefield. As his wife took his hand, Jeralt felt his own raise towards Byleth’s cheek, rubbing it in the same way he did when they were a baby.

And then it was time to go.


End file.
